


Sam - 14

by phantisma



Series: Ages [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-28
Updated: 2006-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Change of POV.  When Sam is 14, he and his brother are kidnapped by their father, and Sam's life changes; everything he thought he knew vanishes and in it's place he's left with a knowledge he's been trying to deny for 6 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam - 14

He was fourteen when his father kidnapped him. Sam finally calmed enough that they removed the gag after they had let him see Dean, and Dean had told him he was okay, that everything was going to be okay.

Now he sat on his cot and watched as they paced around Dean, as they talked in hushed tones and made plans. He watched for signs that Dean was awake…It had only been a few hours. Dean had only missed a single dose. He wouldn’t start to feel it for a while, maybe not even for more than 24 hours.

Sam knew what to expect. He always did. He diligently researched every medication they put Dean on. It wasn’t going to be good. A shadow fell across the door and Sam looked up.

“Have you calmed down enough to talk?” his father asked.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. “I suppose.”

John pulled the door closed behind him and paced around the small room, his hands in his pockets. “We didn’t hurt you, did we?”

Sam was sore, but not hurt. “No. I’m fine. Pissed, but fine.”

John nodded. “I would be too. I’m hoping you give me a chance to explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“First I need some information, so I can make sure Dean is okay.”

“He’d be okay if you let us go so he can take his meds.”

John shook his head and turned to face Sam. “Not going to happen, Son. I’m sorry. I know this probably doesn’t make any sense to you—“

“Stop.” Sam said, his voice colored with anger. “Stop patronizing me and talking to me like I’m that fucking 8 year old you left behind.”

“Okay, fine. At dinner you were angry with Dean. You mentioned that he was having trouble. What kind of trouble.”

Sam deflated a little. He was still sick thinking about it, about the look on Dean’s face as he realized he had no memory of the things he had clearly done.

“Sam, I need to know.”

“I know.” Sam snapped. “I know.” He huffed and tried to make himself smaller on the cot. “I only put it all together yesterday. He’s acting out, but doesn’t remember.”

“Acting out?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, you know, engaging in behaviors that are throw backs to before he started treatment. I found salt on all the window sills, sigils drawn under his bed. I found the gun you left him, loaded with consecrated rounds. Holy water stashed around the house.” He sighed again. “When I confronted him with it, he couldn’t remember doing it.”

“I take it that isn’t normal behavior in your world.” John said with a small smile.

Sam glared at him until he held up his hands. “Okay. Okay. You said something about cutting.” John was more serious now, his eyes catching and holding Sam’s.

“I found a knife.” Sam cleared his throat, suddenly emotional. He had suspected everything else, for close to a month. He’d never though Dean would intentionally hurt himself. “Under his pillow. He’s been using it to…cut.” Guilt twisted in Sam’s stomach and he leaned against the wall behind him.

“Those marks on his chest?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Those Tony gave him. Check his thighs. He said he cuts there.”

John crossed his arms. If he was shocked by his oldest son’s behavior, he didn’t show it. “Who’s Tony?”

“Apparently, he’s the guy Dean lets hurt him.” Sam folded his long legs up and rested his still bound hands on them.

John absorbed this news and sighed. “This is going to get pretty ugly.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to your house, I need to get things, clean up. Is there anything in particular you want?

“I want to go home, does that count?”

“Sam.” His voice was a warning and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Some clothes would be nice, some of my books if this is going to be a long term thing.”

John nodded. “Dean’s going to need you, Sam. Get some sleep now, while you can.”

“Don’t…” Sam stopped himself. He had been going to tell his father not to hurt Janet or Jenny, but he didn’t really think he would. “My left jean pocket. The house keys are there. If you go around noon, no one should be home. Jenny has a summer class, Janet will be at work. There’s a back pack in the closet with the stuff you want, the gun, the journal.” Sam dropped his leg and lifted his hips to let his father into the pocket. “There’s a security system. The code is 4895.” As the door closed behind him, Sam collapsed to the cot, not entirely sure why he was being so helpful, when what he really wanted to do was punch the old man across the jaw.

 

The small room with it’s cots and dirt floor had no windows, so Sam isn’t sure how long he’d slept or what time it was when the sounds of retching and yelling woke him. He threw himself at the door and it opened easily enough, but he stopped dead as he watched his father holding Dean’s head, turning him so that his vomit fell off into the bucket under him, so that Dean didn’t choke. Dean was somehow screaming and vomiting almost at once, thrashing about in the bindings that held him to the bed.

“Get back inside, Sam.” John yelled as another wave slammed out of Dean.

Sam shrank back against the wall. “My god. You’re killing him.” Sam said, his stomach in knots.

“Sam, get back inside. You don’t need to see this.”

“Dad? Holy shit. Dad!”

“Go Sammy. Go.” Dean said weakly as his eyes, all fevered and pained, rolled up toward his brother. “Don’t want you to see. Not this.”

“Caleb. Get him out of here.” John said, wiping a cloth over Dean’s head.

Sam looked up as Caleb came closer. “Please…I need to—“

“You need to do as your Daddy says.” Caleb finished for him, and while he wasn’t as tall as Dean or his father, he was nearly as intimidating and Sam swallowed nervously as he was guided back into the little room. “He knows what he’s doing, Sam.”

Sam sank onto the cot. “He’s killing him.”

Caleb crossed his arms and smiled. “No, Sam. Dean needs to get those drugs out of his system.”

Sam shook his head miserably. He couldn’t believe that. Believing that changed everything. Believing that shook apart everything he had tried so hard to put together. “He’s sick. He’s fucked up. He’s…he’s sick.” He fought against the tears, against everything he didn’t want to face.

Caleb came to squat beside him. “He is sick, but it isn’t what you think. It isn’t what they told you.” His hand felt heavy on Sam’s knee. “Dean isn’t psychotic, Sam. He just…sees things that other people don’t. It can be disorienting, frightening…and people who don’t know, people like that psychiatrist he’s been seeing, they only see psychosis.”

Sam pouted and turned away, like he was a kid again. “You aren’t a doctor. You don’t know.”

Caleb smiled softly. “No, I’m not a doctor, but yes, I do know. I’ve been in this business for a long time, Sam.”

“What, kidnapping?”

“Get some rest. We’ll call you out when he’s a little stronger.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to see my brother.”

Caleb patted his knee and stood. “I know. Just hang in there, okay Sammy?”

Sam stared a death glare at Caleb’s head as he left the room. “It’s Sam!”

 

The third time Sam managed to get the door open, Caleb tied him to the cot. The whole barn smelled of vomit and sweat. Dean’s skin, what Sam could see of it, was sallow and his eyes were dark and sunken. Sam shook as he sat on the cot, listening to Dean’s crying, begging. It was too familiar, too much like that night when Cassie had died.

He tried to close his ears, tried to block out the sounds. Dean’s sobbing beat against him almost physically, beating against the secrets, against the guilt for keeping Dean with him, when Dean would have been better off with their father. He was crying when the door opened and his father came in, looking worn and haggard. He pulled the door shut behind him and came to sit beside Sam.

“I think we’re past the worst of the physical detox.” John said as he collapsed against the wall and rubbed his big hand over his face.

“He’s dying.” Sam pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “He’s dying and it’s my fault.”

“He’s not dying Sam. I know it looks bad, but he’s doing much better.”

“I didn’t know…I didn’t…I mean…not like this.”

John’s hand came down on Sam’s arm. “You’re not making any sense, Sam.”

“Its all my fault. He stayed because of me. He did it because of me. And I let him.” Sam shook his head.

John sighed. “No Sam, it isn’t your fault. You’re tired, you need to sleep.”

“No. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to dream.”

“Sam?”

Sam shook his head again.

“How long has it been since you slept?”

“Don’t know.” Sam bit his lower lip, and kept shaking his head. “Don’t want to sleep.”

“Okay. I’m pulling rank.” John stood and pushed open the door. “Hey, Jim…can you bring me something to help Sam get some shut eye?”

“No!” Sam tried to stand, but the bindings on his wrists held him.

“Take it easy Sam. You need your sleep.”

John pressed him to the cot before slipping a needle into Sam’s arm. “I hate you.”

John nodded and brushed the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “I’m sure you do, Son.”

Sam fought against the drug, but it pulled him under anyway, and the last thing he heard was Dean sobbing his name.

 

The nightmare followed him out of sleep, Jenny’s face, her screams, his hands wet with blood. Sam sat up quickly, breathing hard. He could still feel the sleeping drug in his system, a slight sick twist in his stomach, the heavy pull of his limbs. The door opened again and John and Caleb carried Dean into the room and over to the other cot. As John settled him in, Caleb handed him a wool blanket that John settled over Dean’s shivering form.

Dean’s sunken eyes were on Sam. “Dad…you have to let Sam go.”

“Not yet Dean.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Sam’s voice was rough, hoarse. He wasn’t sure anyone even heard him as he pulled on his bound hands, his wide eyes glued to Dean’s.

“Sammy…Janet needs…Sammy.”

“No.” He wouldn’t leave without Dean because Dean would never leave without him. Maybe that was twisted logic, and maybe if he left he could get help…but he wasn’t so sure anymore what help actually was.

“Dad, let Sam go…let him go home.” Dean was shivering under the blanket, his eyes rolling closed and then open, his hands twitching nervously at the blanket’s edge.

“I can’t do that Dean.”

“Please. Please, Dad. Please.” Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was begging for, only that he needed something more than what John was able to give him.

“Let me up.” Sam said, his face, if not his eyes turning to John. “Let me take care of him.”

John nodded tiredly and Caleb moved to untie Sam. He was across the short distance and kneeling by Dean in a heartbeat, and when he slipped his hand into his brother’s cold and shaking one, the entire world slipped away and it was just him and Dean, just like when they were kids. “Dean, I’m here.”

“Sammy. Sammy…it’s coming…it wants us…”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s all okay. I’m not going any where.” Sam let him hold onto his hand while he really looked at Dean. He hadn’t really looked in so long, he was startled at what he saw. Dean was thin, always had been, but this ordeal had taken a lot out of him, he’d lost weight, and his cheeks were hollowed out, shadowed, almost like he’d been bruised. He looked like a junkie coming down off a high. Sam shivered. “Not going anywhere.”

“Dad…get Sam out of here. It will kill him…it wants him dead….”

“I’ve got him Dad. You can get some sleep.” Sam said quietly as Dean’s eyes closed. “I promise I won’t try to leave.”

John sighed and Sam looked up at him. He seemed so much older than even a few days before. “Really. You’re exhausted. You’re no good to Dean if you can’t function.”

“The boy has a point.” Caleb said.

“Wake me if he needs anything.” John said, though Sam wasn’t sure if the words were for him of for Caleb. Both older men left the room, and suddenly Sam was alone with Dean for the first time in days.

Sam sighed and shifted to find a more comfortable position on the floor. “I’m sorry Dean,” he whispered to his brother, though he knew Dean wouldn’t hear him…or understand his apology, much less accept it once he knew the truth.

 

Guilt ate at him every time Dean’s eyes opened and his fevered eyes looked at Sam like he was his salvation. It gnawed at his insides when John looked at him, all paternal affection and attempted understanding. It was only intensified when he would finally doze off, and the dreams would come. Sometimes they were just the replaying of his fears, his guilt, his need to keep his brother close, no matter what that did to Dean. Other times it was the nightmares…the ones he’d never told Dean about…the ones that frightened him, not because of the demons, but because they marked him…told him he was no different than his brother…and the voice that whispered through them told him he would come to them one day, offer himself to them.

He was still shaking from one like that when his father’s hand touched his shoulder. “Come, eat something.”

Sam shook his head, but his stomach growled. He looked down at Dean who had only just shifted into something like real sleep an hour or so before, when his fever had finally broken. He let his father help him up off the floor and over to the other cot, where two bags of greasy take out food waited. “You all right Sam? You look a little…tired.”

“Headache.” Sam said, then froze minutely. “Not enough sleep I guess.” If John had noticed his reaction, he said nothing, just opened his bag and dug into his burger.

“He looks better.”

Sam nodded, following his gaze. “He’s sleeping. The fever broke.” He picked at his fries and sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.” Sam said after a while.

“You haven’t slept, and I can’t help but notice that when you do finally crash, you have nightmares.”

Sam shook his head, brushing it off, playing with the wrapper on his burger. “Nothing…just…you know…normal stuff.”

“Right…chemistry class in your underwear kind of thing?”

Sam’s smile was weak. “Algebra, actually.”

John nodded. His tone was light, but his words weren’t. “I keep hoping you’ll trust me…that you’ll talk to me. I…want to help you Sam. I want to be your father.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Sam said it before he could stop himself, then lowered his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“No…not really, Sam. That’s what makes this so hard.” John dropped the remains of his meal back into its bag, but didn’t look at Sam. “I thought…That first year, when I came back…when you and Dean came to see me at the diner…I’d been there for almost a week, watching you. I had come to snatch you both and run. But damn, you looked so happy. I watched you playing with Jenny and the way Dean looked after you…and I couldn’t take that away from you…not knowing that we’d be living on the run.”

“We’d already lived on the run, Dad.” Sam said.

“Not like this would have been. We would have been fugitives, Sam. The law would have come.”

“Yeah, like we don’t have to worry about that now?”

John sighed and finally looked at him. “It couldn’t wait any longer. Dean’s behavior, the need to adjust the meds…if I’d let them, he might have been lost to us forever.” He caught Sam’s eye and licked his lips. “Dean has gifts, Sammy, really serious gifts, and they grow as he does. Every time they’ve grown, every time they’ve pushed him through the haze of the meds, they’ve treated him with stronger drugs, harsher treatments. Eventually, they would have broken him completely.”

Sam stiffened and exhaled slowly. “How do you know?”

John’s eyes closed, his body sagged. “When I was Dean’s age, I had nightmares too. Never got visions, exactly. Psychiatry today is little more than a crap shoot, back then it was worse. The meds were…bad. I let them convince me I needed them.”

Sam held his breath and reached out for his father’s arm, tentatively. “What happened?”

John stirred. “I met your mother.” He leaned forward, his eyes on Dean. “She brought everything into focus, I dumped the pills. It was hell for a few weeks, but she was worth it.”

“What about the nightmares?”

John sighed. “They went away.” He sat back. “I don’t know why.”

Sam got up and moved back to Dean, sinking down to sit beside him. “His don’t go away, they just keep getting stronger.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“John,” the door opened and Caleb peeked in. “could I get your help out here?”

John noticed. “You okay?”

Sam nodded, and laid his head on Dean’s hand. “Yeah…Dad. I’m good.”

“I’ll be back.”

Sam yawned and never heard the door close.

 

“Once the drugs are out of your system, your gifts should balance out,” he heard his father say as he came up out of a vague memory of the nightmare.

“No.” Dean’s voice filled with panic. “No. I don’t want them. Is that why you did this?”

Sam sat up, reaching for Dean instinctively. His hand cupped around Dean’s face even before his eyes were fully open. “I’m here, Dean.”

Dean looked at him hard, squinting. Sam thought he saw something in his brother’s eyes…”Sammy.”

The blinding pain was unexpected and he yelled out, grabbing at his head and bending forward, away from Dean as the pain and images slammed into him.

Jenny’s face, laughing, then screaming, then covered in blood. Janet, her stomach ripped open, suspended from the ceiling. “No…no…” Sam clutching at the side of the cot and the dirt floor.

“Sam, relax…if you fight it, it hurts more.” Dean’s voice came through the pain, his hand in Sam’s hair like an anchor that Sam held on to. He tried to relax, but the pain was unlike anything he’d felt. “Relax, let it come.” Dean’s hand was rough, and somehow Sam knew that this same pain, these same images were there in Dean’s head. Dean’s voice was shaky when the worst was over, and Sam looked at Dean, who was looking up at his father. “It’s going after Jenny and Janet. Very soon. It wants us. Me and Sam.”

John frowned at him. “Who is it going to use? There’s no one left in the house but the two of them.”

Sam raised his tear stained face. “Me.” He shook as he pushed himself up off the floor. “Its wearing my face when it kills Jenny.” He closed his eyes as he saw it, as he felt the blood on his hands, heard the laughter echo through his stomach. He stood and moved a few steps from Dean, as if he was somehow to blame.

Dean stood up on unsteady legs and came to wrap his arms around Sam. “I won’t let it have you.” Dean whispered and Sam shook in his arms.

“I have to go away.” Sam whispered. He was truly afraid. His hands were shaking. “I can’t…I won’t…” He saw what he had done to people he loved, what he could do. He shook in Dean’s arms and saw what he had already done to the one person he professed to love the most. He knew Dean would see his quivering as merely a reaction to the vision, and for now, Sam would let him.

“Shh…we’ll go, Sammy. Together. You and me.” Dean whispered back.

“Well, if we’re going, it should be soon.” Pastor Jim said from the door. “Police have been nosing around. Won’t be long now before they find us.”

John nodded. “You boys sure?”

Dean looked to Sam, brushing the hair from his face and looking deep into his eyes. There was a certainty in Dean’s eyes Sam wasn’t accustomed to seeing any more and Sam nodded. He didn’t want this. He wanted what he had, he wanted the life he had struggled for, the one he’d let Dean destroy himself for. But he loved Jenny like a sister, and Janet was the only mother he’d ever known. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know Sammy…I know…” Dean took a deep breath and held on to his brother and Sam could only cling back. He was terrified…of the visions, of Dean, of their father…but maybe more than all of that, he was terrified of himself.

 

It took longer than it should have to organize a retreat from the old barn. There were more people there than Sam had known, and his father was right, Dean was in no shape to do much more than breathe. He sat on the cot, and Sam cuddled up against him like they were still kids. Sam hadn’t spoken since the vision, since he made the choice to leave behind everything he knew and loved.

Dean nudged him. “Sam?”

Sam stirred and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, but didn’t speak. “You okay, squirt?”

Sam’s head shook against him. He knew Dean was anxious and trusting Sam’s lead in this, because he was in no mental place to make decisions. Sam had been making the decisions for too long. He was painfully aware at that moment that he was fourteen, a year younger than when Dean had first gone from nightmares to visions. Dean was trying to be strong, to protect him, and Sam craved it enough to let him try.

“We should call.” Sam mumbled. It had been more than a week since they had left the house to go meet their father for dinner. By now Janet must be sure they were gone, especially if she’d discovered that their clothes and personal items were missing.

“Sam?”

He sat up a little. “Janet. We should call and tell her we’re okay.”

Dean nodded. “When we make the first stop, okay? They’re probably monitoring her phone.”

Sam turned to look at him, and wasn’t sure what he saw in his eyes. “Do you think….will they be okay?”

Dean shrugged, and pulled Sam a little closer. “I don’t know, Sam. I really don’t.”

“Boys? You ready?”

John was at the door and Dean waited for Sam, who nodded slowly. “Yeah…I guess.”

“Bobby’s taking my truck, I’ll drive the Impala with you two boys.”

“Where are we going?” Sam asked, his voice dull and laced with the ache of leaving.

“Eventually to Bobby’s. Caleb’s going on ahead. Everyone else is scattering.”

Sam nodded again then stood, reaching to help Dean to his feet. John joined him and between them they lifted Dean, half carrying him through the barn and out into the sunset. The Impala was waiting, already idling. Dean started to protest when they settled him into the back seat

“Dean, you need sleep.” John murmured, stifling the protest before it gained any sleep. Once Dean was laying down, John covered him with a blanket, checked to make sure his long legs weren’t in the way of the door and closed it.

John slipped behind the wheel and Sam hesitantly got into the passenger side. “You should sleep too Sam. It’s going to be a long night.”

Sam doubted he’d be able to sleep again for a very long time.

 

Sam reached over the seat to touch Dean’s hand. Dean’s eyes opened, pain lodging behind them at the brightness of the early morning. “Where?”

Sam shrugged and handed Dean a cup of coffee. “You okay?”

Dean took the coffee and sat up, nodding. “Yeah. You?”

Sam’s eyes dropped to his hands on the seat back. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t slept…and the night had been long. Hours of silence as they drove and he stared out the window, watching dark slip into darker, his fear and guilt growing.

Dean sipped at the coffee. “Yeah…I’m scared too.”

They were quiet for a minute, Dean watching their father pumping gas outside the window. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam felt so much younger than he was, like he was that eight year old Dean had carried into the emergency room. His long fingers picked at a thread on his shirt nervously. “Is that how it was…the vision, I mean…is that what it was like…for you?” Sam didn’t look up.

Dean inhaled deeply. “Honestly Sam? I don’t know. The meds…they made everything different. I was a little older than you when they started. I’d had the nightmares for years. There was always some pain…but with the visions, its different.”

Sam was crying, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t move. Sam kept his head down, not wanting Dean to see the tears. Thing was, he wasn’t even sure why he was crying…just that it was all too much. “Why?” he finally asked, his voice small.

“I don’t know, Sammy. I wish I did.” Dean reached out a hand, just a light touch on Sam’s arm.

The door opening stole the moment and Sam flopped back into his seat, hiding his face from John as he sat down. “I figure we’ll stop in the next town and get a room. I’m going to need to sleep soon.” His voice was deep and rumbling and it reminded Sam of a time when they were small. He curled toward the window and pillowed his head on his arms, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep.

 

John helped Dean out of the car and into the room, and Dean sat on the bed gingerly. Sam brought up the rear, lugging in their suitcase and kicking the door shut. He’d been quiet for more than an hour. He knew Dean was worried about him, about the silence between Sam and their father.

“I’m going to shower.”

Dean’s eyes tracked John to the bathroom and then looked up at Sam. “Hey.”

Sam turned to look at him, his eyes telling Dean just how afraid his little brother was. “Come here.”

Sam came, sitting beside Dean and folding his impossibly large hands in his lap. “We’re going to be okay.”

Sam nodded, though the gesture ached with misery. “Talk to me, Sammy. It’s killing me. I need to know you’re okay. I can’t…” Dean breathed out. Sam didn’t look at him as the regulated his breathing and likely the emotions racing through him. “Just talk to me.”

There was a moment of panic, of silence that hung between them and Sam knew he was going to tell him…everything…because Dean had a right to know. Had a right to blame him, hate him. “I’m really freaked,” he said finally. “Dean…do you remember? Do you remember the night you first went into the hospital?”

He shook his head. “I—not really Sam…not after Cassie.” Sam’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching as he remembered. He’d dreamed it the night before. He’d dreamed about Dean and the way he shut down. About Cassie and her father. He’d dreamed it and said nothing.

“I do,” he said, his heart racing. He curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his stomach. “I remember listening to you screaming. I was in the waiting room down the hall with Janet, but I heard you.” Sam swallowed and looked up at Dean. His green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I was hysterical trying to get to you. Dr. MacAfferty sedated me. I could still hear you, but I couldn’t move.”

Dean rubbed a hand over Sam’s back, but he it didn’t approach soothing. “I knew.” Sam said, shaking know. Dean would never forgive him.

Dean leaned closer, his face close to Sam’s. “Knew what, Sam?”

Sam quivered, his breath heaving a little. “I knew you…weren’t crazy. I knew…about George.” Sam had seen it, seen George’s eyes that morning. They had looked at him, cold, black…they looked through him and George had smiled.

Dean sat back, his hand leaving Sam’s back. He stared. “You what?”

Sam turned a teary face toward him, not even aware he was crying. “Don’t hate me Dean…please…don’t. I—I didn’t understand it. I…I saw him that morning…my birthday. He had black eyes. I was afraid. I pretended I didn’t. I made myself believe…Dean, god…don’t look at me like that.”

Sam got up, moved away, turned his back to the horror on Dean’s face. Sobs wracked through him. He knew Dean would be angry, but the betrayal and horror in his eyes was too much.

“You fucking knew, Sam? You knew. You knew and you made me believe…you let me think I was crazy.”

Sam sank into the corner. He was sobbing, his body heaving. “Please Dean…please….don’t…I need you…” Sam covered his face so he wouldn’t have to look at his brother.

“I need some air.”

“Dean, no.” Sam sat up as Dean dragged himself back out the door, but he couldn’t move. Dean wasn’t strong enough to be out there on his own. Sam wasn’t strong enough to go after him. He felt shattered, like broken glass that shifted inside him every time he moved. So he didn’t. He stayed, scrunched into the corner, sobbing.

Eventually John emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a hotel towel, his eyes skipping over the room before Sam felt them on his head. He looked up, knowing he must look pitiful. “Where’s Dean?”

“I—I told him…he…went outside.”

John frowned and moved to the window beside Sam’s corner. “He’s sitting in the car.” John said and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “What happened?”

The sobbing came harder and Sam shook his head. “I told him…that I knew…when it started…I knew.”

John came to kneel in front of him, his big hands covering Sam’s. “Knew what Sam?”

“God…oh god Dad…it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. I did this to Dean. I knew, I knew and I didn’t want it and I…”

‘Slow down. Take a deep breath. Its okay.”

Sam shook his head, miserable and approaching hysterical. “No it isn’t okay.” He took the deep breath, tried to calm himself. “It was never meant to be him.” Sam could still see it in his mind, hear the voice, hear himself begging for something normal. “It’s my fault…all of it…the nightmares, the visions, the meds….”

“Sam, you can’t blame yourself here. There’s no clear reason why—“

“No.” Sam lifted his face and looked John in the eye. “There is. I did this. I was afraid. I didn’t…” he exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t know…he…it never said…”

John’s face was starting to register some of the same horror he had seen on Dean’s. “Please, don’t…I…I can’t take it if you hate me too.”

John’s hand rose to his shoulder, then pulled him into a hug. “I don’t hate you, Son. I just want to understand.”

For a long moment they sat that way, then John pulled back. “Let me get dressed, then we’ll go have something to eat.”

Sam nodded, sinking back into the corner while John rose and went to his bag to pull out clean clothes. It wasn’t long and John was herding him out the door, pausing beside the car to talk to Dean. Sam didn’t listen, just waited, his toe scraping a pattern in the gravel. When John returned, he set his hand on Sam’s arm. “He’s okay Sam. We’ll just give him a little space.”

Sam turned to look over his shoulder at his brother, tears threatening to spill again.

“Go Sam. I’m fine.” Dean said, his voice hoarse and harsh.

He wasn’t fine. Neither of them was fine. But they were both great at pretending they were…and sometimes, it was enough.


End file.
